Me. No, You.

I’m really good at being numb, and this week is no different. I’ve shut off all feelings and emotions this week that let me know how my heart is really doing. Honestly, I am purposefully trying to disengage my heart from my mind. I want that divide to grow bigger, not have the two come together. Not this week. I am purposefully disconnecting my heart from the matters at hand, and I am purposefully putting up walls around my heart.

I’m doing this out of self-preservation, you see. I’m doing this out of self-sufficiency and self-awareness and self-selfness. I’m doing this for protection.

My heart is battered enough, don’t you know that? Don’t you understand that I’ve had my fair share of pains and hurts and curses and bruises and brokenness? Don’t you understand that I’m sick of it? Don’t you understand that I just can’t take any more of this brutal torture that is constantly inflicted upon my weak and weary heart? Don’t you get it? Don’t you see? Can’t you tell that I’m tired? Can’t you tell that I’m exhausted? Can’t you tell that I am physically, emotionally, and spiritually spent? Can’t you see that I’m over it? You’re not blind! You can see! You’re not stupid! You can comprehend some things. Right? Can’t you? Aren’t you able to tell? Aren’t you able to just glance at my heart and get the sense that it is tired?

I mean, look at me.

Look at my heart.

Where have I been? Look at all the places my feet have carried me, and all the horrible things my small but wide eyes have seen. Look at all the ugly wounds I have caused for myself, and for the unfortunate souls around me. Look at it. Look at me. Look at my heart. Look at my life.

It’s a mess. I’m a mess.

I can’t do anything right. I can’t cook. I can’t sew. I can’t tie a shoelace so neatly that it stays in a whole day. I can’t color inside the lines. I can’t find caesar salad in the salad area of a grocery store unless it has a spotlight on it. I can’t find the correct garlic bread desired for supper. I can’t handle my money. I can’t keep my innocence in tact. I can’t take a photograph and have it loved completely and wholly by anyone. I can’t draw. I can’t say the right words at the right time. I can’t keep a beat or march to a rhythm. Sometimes, I can’t even spell ‘rhythm.’ Does the ‘h’ go before or after the ‘y’? Is there even an ‘h’ before the ‘t’ at all? I can’t kill a fly. I can’t stock a freezer. I can’t count to 38,389,203. I can’t spell the word “onomonapeaia” without using spell check. (Correct spelling: onomatopoeia) I can’t keep my mouth shut. I can’t say anything nice. I don’t know how to make my hair look pretty. I don’t know how to apply a decent coat of nail polish. I can’t look at someone without the first thing I think of them being something horrible. I can’t look at anyone without ripping them to shreds in my head first.

I can’t do anything correctly.
I’m afraid I don’t make anyone proud, nor will I ever.
I’m worried that maybe, just maybe, I won’t ever be loved.
I’m scared to death that I will die without changing a life.
I’m angry that I hate myself.
I’m sad that I can’t see myself in a positive light.
I’m pissed that my insides match my outsides.
I’m aggravated that I haven’t done anything of note with my life.
I’m ashamed that I don’t have the faith that everyone thinks I have.
I’m guilt-ridden because I can’t keep my life together for longer than a week.
I’m embarrassed that I’m not better.

And are you listening? Do you hear me? You say that you feel for me. You say that you’ve been here before. You say that you understand what I’m saying. You cried at your friends death, eh? You cried when you saw your friend’s souls downcast. You know the hurt of betrayal? You know the pain of being dishonored? You know the disappointment in being let down? You know the loneliness that comes from being friendless? You know the pang of guilt when you don’t make someone proud? You know what it’s like to hang on my cross?

Have you ever been on my cross? Have you ever seen it? Have you ever walked up and felt the grooves of the wood that carry on my back? Have you ever placed your finger on the nails that keep me high on this tree?

Shhhhh…

Oh, gosh. You do know.

You have felt the grooves of the wood, and you have felt the point of the nails. You have felt the weight of my world. You have carried, for quite some time, the burden of my sins… the burden of my can’ts and my don’ts and my won’ts.

And what’s more… you did cry at the death of your friend. And again, you did hurt at the sight of your friend’s deep hurt. And again, you did feel the pang of desperation and the disappointment of betrayal and the pain of loneliness.

You know it all.
You’ve felt it all.
You’ve seen it all.

And though I am dark, so dark, you still say, “I see lovely.”
And though I am a mess, such a mess, you still say, “I see lovely.”
And though I am dirty, and ugly, and broken, and used, and no good anymore, you still say, “I see lovely.”

And because You see lovely, I am altogether lovely.

And because You see lovely, I am silenced.
I am in awe.
I am astounded.
I am strangely hopeful.
I am oddly peaceful.
I am slightly nervous, but completely at
ease.
I am beginning to believe it.
I am beginning to see it.
I am beginning to taste, and feel, and
breathe it.

Because You say, “Shhh… lovely…”
I will be silent, and I will listen, and I will believe.